Rescue Me
by n0pe
Summary: "What side are you on? It's the impossible coice of this useless war, and though it scares her to death she truly has no idea."
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my continuation of 'The Abducted', an episode I absolutely loved. **

**Spoilers for The Abducted, of course, and the promo for the next episode.**

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The room is dark, the feeling of cold tiles beneath her feet and surpressed panic in her mind familiar as if she's never been away. She knows the room, its features etched in her heart though she cannot see; there is so much time to kill and so little to do but trace the room or wallow in sorrow. Ocassionally, she does both.

The routine is still the same. Prodding and pricking in a shiny lab -the sight of it makes her slightly melacholic, images of an old man in a worn cardigan invading her mind- and this time, the only thing that's changed is they treat her even more like an animal.

But she can't hate them anymore, can't stare at them with the same venom they'd been met with the fist time. She knows they're just people doing what they believe is right.

Aren't we all?

The feeling of routine is almost a comfort to her at times, when she thinks of faces and choices and the million dollar-question: What side are you on? It's the impossible coice of this useless war, and though it scares her to death she truly has no idea.

She has to get back. That, she does know. To Rachel and Ella, Walter and Astrid and of course Peter. Peter, the man she's seen in her visions. Who's kept her company, whether she wanted it or not. Whose words have made her doubt and whose insights have made her think, and whose touch has made her feel everything, the brushing of their skin like lifting a veil, showing her the truth, however ugly.

Frank was back. She knows it only because a guard slipped it to her yesterday, a gesture she thinks was meant to be cruel- torture her with information about her life, her family. They really don't get that she isn't _her. _But she feels her heart flutter when his name's mentioned, and it's a reaction that scares her.

It's not what she's supposed to be feeling. She can remember everything again, and that's supposed to be it. She tells herself she didn't change, didn't develop an affection towards Frank and his sweet words and genuine worry. She instucts herself not to care for Licoln and his big eyes, and the adorable way he stares at her when he thinks she isn't watching, his crush on her too obvious for words.

But that's the problem, isn't it? Lincoln doesn't have a crush on her, the broken one with the shy smile. It isn't her that Frank dreams of at night, when his nose is pressed into her hair. It's the one with the red hair and the leather jackets and the loud, exturbant laugh.

She wonders where Peter is right now. Is he in the lab, the other Olivia tied to a chair and the cruel voice she'd hear Peter speak in so rarely demanding answers? Is he bent over a table with Walter, figuring out a way to rescue her, like they always do? Or is he staring out of the window she so desperately wishes for, wondering if all is lost now?

It never occurs to her that maybe it's none of these things, that maybe he's pacing the room, a blonde-haired Olivia still emerged in peaceful dreams of a man she can't quite identify, his eyes a warm brown but his words sarcastic; completely unaware of the war raging in his head. She doesn't even consider this option, that he hasn't found out yet, that smiling lips and Casablanca were the only things on his mind until just oh so recently.

She has no way of tracking time but for the coming and going of the guards, their pacing footsteps sounding in pace with the beating of her heart.

The creack of the door startles her out of her thoughts, the bright light from the hallway shining directly into her eyes, blinding her. She lifts a bruised hand to shield her eyes, the harsh light forming a halo around his head, an angelic image of the last person she'd expected to be her saviour.

Words are spoken and lives are begged for, her desperation no longer quiet as all her hope became fixed on the man standing before her, torn between loyalty and concience, duty to the state and duty to his heart.

Eventually, heart wins over as she sees it in his eyes, and they are moving and running and something is wrong. Her step, it's wrong. The cocky little grin that's plastered on her face, that's not her. But there's no time to dwell on feelings and details, they need to get out of here and run, run, run.

What happens next passes in a daze, as she sees familiar faces. Lincoln, Charlie, Henry, Broyles, all forming a blur in her head as she is lead to the blue portal in the middle of the lab, and she thinks she can see a silent tear escaping Lincoln's eyes, but she can't be sure; she steps through the angry blue lights and they dissapear. All of them, gone now.

She's barely taken a step on the ground that's supposed to be home before she falls to the ground, body and mind exhausted. She tries to brace herself but it doesn't work, and the last thing she sees before her head collides with the ground and her vision becomes black is a flash of blonde-died hair and large, green eyes, only a shade lighter than hers.

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**A/N: Good, bad, mediocre? I'm not really sure if I should continue this or not.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So, despite a long wait for which I apologize (I had a minor case of writer's block. It sucked.) here's the second chapter. Thanks to Ambre (Elialys) for letting me take some of her precious time and show her this. **

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A sharp beeping pierces the air as Peter's phone rings, waking its sleepy owner. Peter picks up the cursed thing without looking at the screen, knowing who the only person who would call him at three a.m. was.

"Hello?" He says, voice groggy with sleep and eyes closed, his body tired and his thoughts slow.

"Peter?" Olivia's voice speaks, and the tone it carries wakes him up immediately. "I think you need to come."

"Where?"

He races to the lab, not caring about red lights or speed limits, only thinking about the desperation in her eyes and the cold hand of fear gripping his heart. When he arrives the building is dark, its at day so lively campus looking almost ghostly and the statue of John Harvard casting an eerie shadow over the ground.

His feet pound hard on the concrete floor, and its rythm increases until the sound mingles with the panting of his breath and the beating of his heart as he reaches the doors to the lab. Despite all his haste he hezitates a second, his hand hovering just above the door. Horrible scenarios are running through his head, yet none as bad as the one he's about to encounter.

Then a desperate scream reaches his ears, muffled by the doors making the sound even more ghastly and he rushes in, spotting Olivia immediatly, her long blonde hair fanned over her suit clad back in disarray. Peter runs over to her, worried eyes running over her, making sure she is okay and only then notices a figure in the corner of the room, a figure so familiar it makes his breath catch in his throat and his eyes blaze with fire.

"You!" He spits to the bowed form in front of him, red hair contrasting sharply with eerily white skin, dotted with bruises. Red hot anger blinds him as all he can think about is how for once life had been going well, and he'd been happy and now _she _just has to barge in and change it all. His mouth opens, a cruel kind of anger written all over his face as he searches for words but then _she_ lifts her head, and the look in her eyes shuts him up faster than anything can. He'd been prepared for anything; anger, sadness or maybe even that taunting little smile he'd seen her wear while he was over there, when he'd told her how he liked the red better, but not this. Not the pure desperation he had seen only so few times but had been etched deeply in his mind, green eyes haunting him.

He tears his eyes away, to the woman standing behind him. The one whose lips he'd kissed, whose bed he'd lain in , who now looked so... _wrong. _He saw it now, suddenly; saw the difference in her eyes and her lips and the colour of her skin. His mouth curves oh so slightly in a grimace of pure disgust, and suddenly there's a gun in his hand and it's pointed at her, the one who lied to him.

She puts her hands in the air but the cold metal of the gun doesn't waver a bit, and her eyes are almost challenging him to do it. For a moment, he is convinced he will, that this is going to be the end of it and he's going to shoot the woman he has proclaimed to love only hours ago.

But he can't. She's cold and conning but she's still Olivia Dunham, and he just can't make himself pull the trigger. He lowers the gun slightly, his blue eyes doubting and thousands of questions running trough his mind but the choice is taken from him as suddenly she lurches forward, hitting him with a ruthlessness he hadn't imagined her capable of. There are, however, more things that he hadn't imagined she could do until oh so recently; the pain shooting through him almost feels deserved. He feels a knife grazing his cheek, and his hands instinctively rise to protect himself, but his random blows are no match for her years of training and he knows this isn't a fight he can win. The gun he'd been holding now lays on the floor, a weapon so deadly in her hands yet so useless in his. As the knife stabs again, blood trickles down his cheek and it mingles with more blood and ruby red becomes all he can see.

Then suddenly, there is a flash of auburn, and she is there, Olivia is there and she's strong and beautiful and all the things he isn't supposed to be thinking about right now. Pain is forgotten as he watches her fight, two people born the same yet nothing alike. He's said it before, back when he was over there and they were in that apartment that was supposed to be his home but felt more distant than any place he'd ever been in. He'd said it then, told her how the differences were subtle but really not at all, how at first glance they might look alike, but appearances are deceiving and how can he have been this stupid?

But then a switch flicks, and he realizes that if you want to win you actually have to fight; still on his knees he scrambles for the gun and this time there is no hezitation as he fires it, again and again until dark red stains blonde hair -he now sees the colour is slightly off. Dead eyes stare up -he now sees they are just a bit too unburdened.

And Olivia is on the floor next to her, the sight of her and her blood-covered hands making him want to cry or hit himself. He does neither, just stares at her, lips motionless but eyes speaking of so much regret. How could he have been so dumb, so arrogant to think that she'd changed, just because of him? That he was the one that'd lifted the burden from her step, relieved her from the ghosts of her past, cured her of her need to always save the world?

Then the door is thrown open and people come rushing in, and all fades to a blur but her, sitting there next to her alternate's lifeless body. He wants to reassure her, to touch her and hold her and make sure she's real but he knows it isn't what she needs right now. So he just looks at her, and only averts his tear-stained eyes when the pain of the wounds the other her had inflicted -he's not sure they're only physical- becomes too much. He mindlessly lets himself be ushered to a paramedic and he's explained it's not too bad, that it'll hurt and needs stiches but he'll be okay.

He's not too sure.

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**A/N: Like I said, a bit of writer's block and I'm still not totally happy with this. Review please? They always make my day. **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Chapter three. I kind of wrote this when I was really sad and crying (don't ask) but apparently writing helps me calm down so here it is. This was written about a day after 'The Abducted' (which is almost three weeks ago) so any similarities to the promo (and actual episode) of Marionette are purely incidental. Also, I should be a psychic :)**

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As she walks into her room, she can hear the door closing behind her, the last traces of him fading away. Slowly, she lets herself slide to the floor. Her head comes to rest on her hands and her knees are pulled up to her chest as she sits alone in the dark room.

And then she cries. And cries, and cries. Cries like she never has, shoulders heaving and breaths irregular as grief and ache take over a choke hold on her throat, pressing out violent sobs. Tears are streaming down her cheeks and she buries her hands in her wet, long, auburn-coloured hair. She sobs and cries until she doesn't even remember why, until her head pounds with tears and her shirt is soaked. She needs someone, she needs him. But as she lifts her throbbing head, darkness stares at her, the room cold and empty. There is no one. She's alone.

Olivia lets out another dry sob, all her tears cried and her breathing only a little calmer, desperation no longer taking her over, but still flowing ever so steadily through the cracks in her barely regained composure. She wants to- no, needs to pull herself together, to be the strong, brave Olivia Dunham she's always been. But she just can't, can't pick up the pieces again and form an imperfect mask; she's just too broken.

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The moment Peter enters Olivia's house he knows his instincts were right. There is something terribly, terribly wrong. He can feel it.

He doesn't know what he expects to find when he opens the door but it's certainly not this. Not a scared, crying woman in the corner of a dark room, huggin her knees to her chest and wearing an expression he's almost afraid to analyze. It isn't anger or sadness or even fear; it's helplessness and he can't help but swear at the sight of her. This is so wrong. This is all so fucked up wrong.

He rushes over to her but her eyes don't really focus on his as he kneels down beside her: she sees right through him. He places a hand on her cheek, both to get her attention and to look at the angry purple bruise that's forming there, marring the creamy skin that is so familiar yet so foreign to him. He knows why: the other her's skin tone is a little darker. It's a microscopic(al?) difference yet it shows him again how different they really are.

How can he have been so blind?

"Olivia?" He asks, his voice urgent and worried and finally she looks at him, face wearing that same expression, reminding him of a lost child, small and alone in the woods.

"Peter?" She asks, voice raw from all the crying. It really is a question, like she truly has no idea. Like she has given up already.

"Because you need me." His voice sounds calmer than he really is, and it almost doesn't betray the fact that he's so fucking worried. But she pushes his hand away and just shakes her head, eyes staring into the distance again. "No, I don't."

"But you do." He says and steps closer still, even though she doesn't as much as aknowledge his presence. "You need me, and I need you. What I did was stupid and I was dumb and so fucking blind, but I just.." He liftes his hand, touching her chin lightly. She tries to maintain her impassive glare but he can see her shiver just the slightest bit at his touch, encouraging him to go on. He has to try, at least. "I had no idea. I genuinely had no idea, I swear."

Suddenly, she snaps, and her eyes focus on his now, anger builing inside them. "You didn't know? You had sex with her and you _didn't know_?"

"What about her eyes, huh? Her smile? The way she walks, the way she dresses? That's not me, Peter! And you just expect me to believe that you didn't notice that?"

"Of course I did! Of course I noticed, but can't a guy be in love?" At that Olivia turns her head sharply, his words shocking her. "Yeah, I was- am in love with you and I thought for once life was going well. _She_ said us being together changed her and I agree that maybe I was selfish for believing I was the one that made you smile like that. But I'm sorry. God, Olivia, I am!" Peter's eyes are desperately begging now; he isn't prepared to lose her. But her face just hardens and he doesn't recognize her when she says through gritted teeth: "Get out. Now."

Peter sighs. She's made her choice and as much as it hurts him he has to accept it. He leans forward, dropping a lingering kiss on her forehead she neither aknowledges nor resists, and he swears he can hear a small sob behind him as he turns to leave, tears in his eyes and pain in his heart.

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**A/N: Liked it? Didn't like it? Was too busy bawling over the promo of Marionette and the thought of Olivia crying against a washing machine to notice? Please let me know :)**


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